A Night's Kiss
by LucianSalesia
Summary: Prequel to my story "Our Velocity" A scene of what happened between John leaving the flat and the pool scene. slash.


Disclaimer: Nope. Still not making any money from this because it still ain't mine... -.-

Warning: Slash! Which means, men loving men, don't like, don't read!

So, this is a Sequel to my story "Our Velocity" as I was more or less kicked to write one by my flat-mate, farawisa^^ Have fun reading!

**A Night's Kiss**

John was pissed off about them all. Sherlock, because he was an ass about this, Mycroft, because he couldn't stop bothering him with texts about the case he wanted solved and was an arrogant ass about it as well. Though above all, he was pissed at himself. Jim hadn't even looked at John in the hospital, had been solely focused on Sherlock and the sharp edges of _that_ tore his heart. This stupid fragile thing he thought had been lost that day in the desert.

No-one had gotten out of the building alive, the bodies burnt and shredded from the shrapnel. Then his calls went unanswered, his e-mails, his letters and with every unanswered message he had lost a piece of himself. Then he was shot and discharged and sent home. Home to caring nurses and doctors and empty rooms. Harry had come by once, told him about Clara and gave him the phone to call her once in a while. And still everything he tried to get in contact with the one person that really mattered ended him no-where.

Jim was dead, for sure. Otherwise John would be dead and he wasn't, even though he seemed to wish he would be more and more often. And then Sherlock happened. A whirlwind of energy that couldn't be ignored. It was so familiar he couldn't help but hang onto it. Moriarty. To hear that word from his lips had been a shock, a cruel twist in his heart that took his breath.

Jim? An impersonator? An heir to the position? If it was his lover, why hadn't he answered his calls? If Jim was finished with him, as it seemed from his reaction at the hospital, why was John still alive? Was this some cruel punishment? The anger and jealousy only got worse the longer he stayed with Sherlock. Sherlock who was so fascinated with this new riddle, the gifts he was presented in interesting cases. With every new case John became more certain that it was _his_ Jim, the signature too unique to be anyone else.

And now, at the end of this great game his room-mate and, probably, ex-lover are playing he didn't know if he had the strength, or the will, to watch all this. If he could stand losing Jim to someone else than Death.

John cursed, his voice no longer pissed but desperate. He had left his gun at the flat. So, no easy way out. He sighed. He was actually so deep in thought, he didn't even notice the men sneaking up on him until a van stopped besides him and chloroform filled his lungs. Last thing he knew before darkness, were strong arms catching him.

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Jim looked at the entry in Sherlock's website. A meeting, huh? Well, that will be just splendid. He just had to change a few things in his plan. It's good that he was flexible in that aspect. He started to get bored with this Holmes character. He was also closing in on the man that had threatened him with John's death and so, didn't need the distraction of Holmes anymore.

Jim lent forward in his chair and opened the middle drawer of his desk. His fingertips caressed the paper folded up in there. Letters, e-mails, little notes, things he should have burnt after he read them, but hadn't been able to bring himself to actually go through with that. Every time he opened that drawer his heart startled and his chest got tighter, his breath more difficult to draw. God, how he hated being in love. God, how he missed him.

But it wasn't long now. While keeping Holmes busy, Moriarty had managed to track down the man and his network that had threatened him and Jim was planning to execute him just after tonight. This fucker who had dared to threaten John and had the power to actually do so. Jim had known the risks as soon as he had realized what had happened after the explosion in Afghanistan. John would stay low, keep to his soldiers and doctors, finish his tour.

It was better John thought Jim was dead. It was better the man threatening him, thought Jim had lost interest in John. It had broken his fucking heart to read the letters and e-mails and hear the phone-messages and not be able to call back, to take the next flight and screw this all. But he couldn't, John would end up dead because of him and even though he had lost all morals and scruples, he hadn't lost them when it came to this one man. Just this week, one week and he would be able to contact him, to answer his desperate calls. One week and he would be able to do what he had longed to do for the last six moths.

Since he had risked the visit to the military hospital where John had been lying, heavily sedated, in a bed, gun shot wound fresh in his shoulder. He had held his hand all night until he had heard the nurses starting to make their rounds. He had been out of the room before anyone had noticed him being there.

The beeping of his mobile informed him of a text message. "Got the room-mate."

He answered with an address and the order to strap him into the Jacket. He stood from his chair. It was time for the grand finale. And it was time for him to meet the man that could stand to live with Sherlock Holmes.

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John came to in a small room that smelled of chlorine and moisture. He knew instantly where he was. The pool where the boy, Carl, had died. The second thing he noticed was the Semtex strapped to his upper-body. Twenty pounds by his estimation. He wouldn't even notice being ripped apart. He looked up as he heard footsteps and sat up, prepared to meet one of the goons that had dragged him here. He hadn't expected to see Jim walking into the room. And by the open shock on Jim's face _he_ hadn't expected to find John there either. Jim closed the door and pressed himself against it, as if to stop himself from running over to John and taking him away from all this.

"Y_ou're_ John Watson?" Jim shook his head, then nodded. "Of course you are. Shit!" there was silence before John managed to find his voice.

"So you hadn't planned to kill me." Jim looked up and his face was so heart broken John couldn't help but forgive him, whatever the answer he was going to get would be. Despite all those doubtfull months he had to suffer through. "It's okay if you had planned to. You know what I said at the beginning of this." Jim straightened at those words and nodded.

"You said that it was okay if I didn't love you the way you love me or as much. " Moriarty swallowed heavily before continuing. "But that I should be merciful and kill you should I ever want to end our relationship." he swallowed before looking up straight into Johns eyes. "I had planned to kill the flat-mate. I had _never_ planned to kill _you_."

John held his gaze for a moment before nodding.

"Okay." John said, his mind focusing on the situation at hand, as he couldn't bring himself to open that can of emotions any time soon, when he knew that he would forgive Jim in the end. "What happens now?" he pointed to the Semtex bars strapped to his vest. Jim finally stepped away from the door and knelt down in front of him.

"Now," he said and lifted one hand to cup Johns face. "Now, we will perform an act that will be worthy of an Oscar." Jim grinned and couldn't help himself and lent down to plant a kiss on those lips, smiling as he was greeted with a smile as he pulled back. God, he had _missed _this. It should be illegal to love someone this much. Though, thinking about it, it would be just one more rule to break. But he had to finish this business first, so he pulled himself to his feet, before helping John to do the same.

"Sherlock should be here any minute now, so this is what we're going to do." Jim said for once with a serious expression on his face. John listened and nodded. For all of Sherlock's brilliance, he was like a child when it came to emotions. It should work perfectly. Before John took his position though, he had to do one thing. He leaned in and kissed the top of Jim's head.

"I love you. Don't forget that. Whatever happens out there." Jim looked up with a slightly pained expression and nodded before turning away and went to take his position in this upcoming play. He couldn't bring himself to actually say the words, because he would never finish this otherwise, so he just thought them.

'I love you, too'

FIN

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